


Nature Well-Read in Tooth and Claw

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Psychic Wolves, Psychic Wolves Almost Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6002500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton didn't have a wolf of his own, but that didn't seem to matter--everyone else's wolves loved him. Including Aaron Burr's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nature Well-Read in Tooth and Claw

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Petra for the beta, and her and Dira for the fest which germinated the idea!

"Pardon me. Are you Aaron Burr, sir?"

Aaron turned to look at the man who was addressing him. The other man was shorter than he was, slighter, and not dressed as well, but he had a penetrating intelligence in his eyes and a manic energy that had him nearly bouncing on the tips of his toes. He didn't seem like a threat, but Aaron already had a deflection ready. He opened his mouth to respond--

And that's when Temperance decided she would introduce herself. She reared up on her hind legs and put her paws up on the other man's shoulders, ears pricked forward, tail wagging, pleased as punch to have found this new person even if her man wasn't quite as interested.

"Why, hello!" the man said, delighted, and reached up and _scratched Temperance's ears._ "Pleasure to meet you, as well!"

The ear-scratching rippled through their bond, and Aaron had to swallow back a sudden surprised feeling of contentment, unseemly pleasure, and certainty that _oh, we're going to be_ good _friends, you and I._

So that was how Aaron Burr first met Alexander Hamilton, future Treasury Secretary, future war hero, future pain in everyone's ass, future loser in their fatal duel. It wasn't an auspicious start, but it had the advantage of giving him fair warning.

* * *

Hamilton didn't have a wolf of his own. There simply weren't that many in the backwater where he'd been raised, and while not all men with access to wild wolves had the character necessary to strike a bond with one, men with the necessary character still needed the wolf to be there at the right time in their life.

But if Hamilton resented his ill fortune, he never seemed to show it. It seemed to help that most wolves _loved_ the man.

Burr's own Temperance, of course, was delighted with him. Laurens' Liberation nearly always had his head in Hamilton's lap, once the two met. And though General Washington's wolf was a sleek old fellow with more dignity than either Temperance or Liberation on their best days, Glory would always stand and give Hamilton's legs a friendly nudge whenever he came into the room.

Angelica Schuyler wasn't the only woman who had her own wolf (nor the most famous, if you counted Dolley Madison and her Lady,) but she was certainly among rare company. She'd also apparently needed long talks with Diomedes that he wasn't going to have to give up his companion, that Eliza and Alexander would still be family, and could he please stop complaining because he was going to ruin the wedding and nobody wanted to drag the maid of honor's wolf off to the woodshed and lock him in, much less the maid of honor, who had spent quite some time on her dress, thank you very much.

Aaron missed the wedding, but Hamilton told him the story over drinks later, absentmindedly scratching Temperance's ears as he sipped his beer and gestured expansively with his glass.

If the rumors about Hamilton and Laurens were true, then Hamilton must have known--he must have!--what he was doing to Aaron with that touch.

Aaron didn't say anything, though. He lay his head on his crossed arms on the table, narrowed his eyes, and listened to Hamilton talk and talk while the feeling of _friend, friend, trust,_ washed over him.

* * *

After the war, Aaron made a home for himself and his family at a good address on Wall Street, and an office for himself further up the road. Hamilton took a house with his wife at the other end of the street, close to the shops, and an office irritatingly close to Burr's.

They worked apart, occasionally together, very rarely on opposing sides. Judges occasionally took it amiss when the prosecution's wolf spent recesses demanding to be petted by the defense. But Temperance understood that both Aaron and Hamilton loved the law, and the camaraderie allowed Aaron a sort of lofty objectivity, a sense that the law was above their petty emotional concerns.

Hamilton didn't entirely see it that way. Hamilton was always emotional, about law, about their new country, about fiscal policy and tax revenue, everything.

The long sticky summer turned into a brisk autumn as Hamilton went back and forth from New York to the Constitutional Convention arguing his case. When "Cato" and "Brutus" started attacking the new constitution in the press, Hamilton fumed and fulminated and Aaron rolled his eyes and ignored him.

By mid-October, Aaron had another problem.

Wolves in the wild mated in the full dark of winter, in pockets of warmth they created in the snowy landscape. Bonded wolves followed the example of their wild kin... mostly. With the possibility of estrus falling several months early or late. In the autumn of 1787, Temperance was early.

"Temper," Aaron chided her, as she whined and butted at his legs and scratched at the door to his office. He finally took her outside and let her go, off into the dark to find her own companionship in the moonlit meadows on the north edge of town. Aaron returned to his office, shut the door, and leaned his head against the smooth wood.

The heat burning in his mind and up and down his body--that was familiar, by now, but it never got any easier. His wife lived just down the street, and he had the calling cards for several other women--and several ladies of particular paid employment. If he needed some release, he had plenty of places he should go.

But it wasn't a woman his body was crying out for, thank Temper and her damnable lupine needs for that.

Aaron started pacing, loosening his collar, counting his steps and wishing that Temper would get it over with. There were alternatives, of course. He'd bought his wife a dildo and they had practiced with it harnessed to her hips, but she found the process tiring more often than not. He could take care of himself if he had to, but he wanted--he _desired_ enthusiasm, passion, a partner who understood the strange state of distracted lust a man coupled to the natural courses of an animal found himself in.

Temper was letting herself be chased. He could tell, she was leading all the potential suitors in the city in circles, laughing at them. If she didn't hurry it up soon he'd have to get the supplies he'd stashed out of the drawer in the back and take things in hand himself. She could be remarkably picky, at times. With other wolves and with men; though Temper had liked Theodosia when she'd first met her, she hadn't been fond of any of Aaron's other female companions, and the only man she'd liked unreservedly had been--

There came a rapping at the door, and Aaron whirled. Who the hell, at this time of night?

Aaron opened the door a crack, then frowned at his visitor. "Alexander?"

"Aaron Burr, sir," Hamilton said, grinning sheepishly. He'd always taken far too much pleasure in the rhythms of his own speech for Aaron's liking, and tonight it was especially galling.

Aaron let himself lean forward so he could brace his forehead on the doorjamb. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. "It's the middle of the night," he reminded Hamilton, hoping the other man would come to the point _quickly._

"Can we confer?" Instead of taking the hint, Hamilton took the door. And pushed it open, and strode into his office, and the only reason Aaron was letting him was, well, he was lonely and needy and he _liked_ Hamilton, or at least Temper liked Hamilton, and right now Temper's needs were something of a distraction.

Aaron stared blearily out the open door for a long moment before shaking himself and reaching to shut it.

When he turned around, Hamilton was standing by his desk, frowning at him, tiny crease between his eyebrows betraying his worry. Aaron waited. Hamilton opened his mouth, closed it, frowned deeper. "Sir?" Hamilton finally asked.

Aaron closed his eyes briefly. Usually the problem with Hamilton was that he wouldn't _stop_ talking. "Is this a legal matter?" he prodded.

"Yes, and," Hamilton held up a hand in appeal. "It's important to me."

_"What_ do you need," Aaron asked flatly.

That finally seemed to get through to him. Hamilton shook himself and strode forward until they were face to face. "Burr, you're a better lawyer than me," he said, falling into what sounded like a prepared statement. "I know I talk too much. I'm abrasive--you're _incredible_ in court."

Aaron grunted. He should feel annoyed that Hamilton was buttering him up. He had felt annoyed in the past. Hamilton wanted something. But right now feeling appreciated and liked was dangerously addictive; the words poured into him like wine. "I don't--"

"You're succinct," Hamilton cut him off. "You're persuasive. My client needs a strong defense--"

"Who's your client," Aaron forced himself to interrupt.

Hamilton at least had the grace to look embarrassed. "The new US Constitution?"

The reflexive "No" stuck in Aaron's throat. For a moment, he wanted it. He wanted to get swept up in Hamilton's enthusiasm, that hard-headed perseverance that would see him through damn near anything. Because Hamilton had shown up and praised his talents right when he was feeling particularly lonely, aching for company, for camaraderie, for... for something.

But. He didn't want this, not in his rational mind. He knew very well that aligning himself politically with Hamilton was a risk. Factions were forming in New York, in the society of lettered men of the nation, and Hamilton was a polarizing figure. Aaron wanted... he needed... there was something important about remaining aloof, and he...

He had been asked before what it felt like, to have a wolf; if he felt what she felt or could see through her eyes, hear through her ears. And the answer was that it depended. Sometimes when Temperance was close to him, he could pick up on the scents and sounds of the world she lived in, but most often he just felt her emotions, wild and untamed by anything men would consider society.

Thankfully, the more distant she was, the weaker the connection got. And yet.

He still turned away, not sure what his face was betraying, as he said, "I need you to leave."

"What?" Hamilton sputtered for a second. "Won't you even consider it? Hear me out, at least--"

"Alexander," Aaron said, and maybe something in his voice got through, "I need you to _leave."_

Hamilton went gratifyingly silent. Briefly. "Are you unwell? Are you... is it Temperance? Is something wrong? Is she all right?"

"Fine," he said shortly. "Please."

He could almost hear Hamilton thinking, the damn sparks taking to tinder in his brain. "This is early for her, isn't it?"

So the man wasn't completely unobservant. "Yes."

"Do you need help getting home? Your wife--"

Aaron choked a laugh. "You don't seem to understand the problem."

Hamilton took a deep breath, then essayed, "I was assured, at one time, that... men in your position have sanction to seek--"

"Not men in _my_ position," Aaron snapped. "I don't know what Laurens or Washington were allowed, but no social leeway is given to the bitch."

He heard a sharp inhale from Hamilton, and then nothing. Aaron closed his eyes and briefly regretted saying anything. He wasn't sure exactly how deep that shot had scored, but he hadn't meant to wound at all.

"I suppose not," Hamilton finally said. "I suppose... look, Burr--Aaron. You can rely on my discretion."

"Of course," Aaron said faintly.

"If there's anything I can do... for you" Hamilton said awkwardly, "As a friend..."

Yes, Aaron thought, immediately, yes please, yes there's a cot in the back, yes stay, and he swallowed and said "Please, just go."

"Oh," Alexander said. "Of course."

Aaron shut the door tightly behind him, and not just against the cold. He didn't open the door again until Temperance came trotting back, sniffing around the door and Aaron's legs and grinning, ears pricked forward and tail wagging. _Friend-alexanderhamilton here?_ she sent in the not-quite-speech flicker of sensation and impressions Aaron could understand when they were close. She sniffed again. _Left?_

Aaron sighed and scratched her behind the ears.

She laughed at him again. _Picky._

He thought about that, in the following days, months, years. Sometimes thought it might have been worth it to just take Temper's advice and bed the man. She'd always been more trusting than he was. Looking back, Aaron couldn't tell any more which of them had been wrong.

* * *

Months stretched into years, and their new country, the one they had bled for, began to take shape. It was being formed in situ, less like an elegant sculpture, and more like a piece of bread dough being stretched and pummeled by two groups of angry bakers.

Hamilton was kept busy the winter of 1790 between crafting legislation, writing Congress long reports, and managing the bustle of the new Treasury Department. But he was aware enough that when the re-elections for the first group of United States senators rolled around, and Burr went up against Schuyler for the New York seat, Hamilton noticed.

When Burr won, he _definitely_ noticed.

Hamilton had been shuttling back and forth between New York City and the new home of the government in Philadelphia, so it wasn't a _surprise,_ necessarily, when he showed up in Burr's office unannounced.

Temperance scrambled to her feet when Hamilton opened the door. "Burr," Hamilton said, then stopped as Temper nuzzled his hand. "... And Temperance," he amended, expression softening as he reached out to give her ears a customary scratch.

Aaron leaned back in his chair, for once not minding the self-satisfied feeling he got when Hamilton did that. "Alexander."

Hamilton sighed and stepped further inside, letting the door close. "Since when are you a Democratic-Republican?"

Aaron shrugged, willing to play the game. "Since being one put me on the up-and-up again."

Hamilton barked a laugh. "I can't imagine how you managed it. No one knows who you are or what you do."

That shouldn't have hurt. He should be able to brush off Hamilton's arrogance like the bite of a fly. But the shock of Alexander's dismissal while he was still humming with victory, with satisfaction, with Alexander's fingers in his--in Temperance's fur, it was too much.

Deliberately lightly, he leaned forward and smiled. "Oh, they don't need to know _me._ They don't like _you."_

Hamilton's head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, Wall Street thinks you're great," Aaron said, standing and moving out from behind his desk. "But then, you'll always be adored by the things you create, and upstate--"

"Wait," Hamilton said, stepping forward, real anger starting to show in his eyes. Good.

"People think you're crooked," Aaron continued. "And Schuyler's seat was up for grabs, so..." he shrugged languidly. "I took it."

Hamilton stared at him, floored into silence for a good moment. "I've always considered you a friend," he finally said.

"I don't see why that has to end."

"You changed parties to run against my father-in-law!" Hamilton snapped, and stepped forward again, seething.

That's when Temperance decided to intervene. She didn't know human politics, or understand human bonds of family and patronage. She just saw that a member of Aaron's pack wasn't accepting his place now that Aaron had scored a victory.

Hamilton's expression as a full-grown wolf slammed into his chest and overbalanced him onto his back with a teeth-jarring thud was one that Aaron would probably treasure for years.

"All right, Temper," Aaron told her when Hamilton got his breath back. "You didn't have to do that, let him up."

Temper left off showing her teeth and was instantly the friendly puppy she usually was, stepping off Hamilton's chest and butting his shoulder with her head to show it was all in fun. Hamilton sat up a little gingerly, looking from Temperance to Burr and visibly realizing that all their long acquaintance, he'd been underestimating a creature with fangs.

Aaron reached out a hand to help him up. Hamilton took it. "Well," Hamilton said when he was on his feet. "Well."

Aaron clapped him on the shoulder. "Please. She was only--"

"No, it's perfectly fine, I understand," Hamilton said. "I was over-reacting."

Temperance made a soft mothering noise and nudged Hamilton's hand. He pulled it away and she stared up at him.

"Well, good luck, senator," Hamilton said. "Good day."

Temper was inconsolable after Hamilton left. She paced the office until Aaron finally dragged her outside, walking with her up Broadway until they reached the sunny expanse of Lispenard's Meadow where she could chase grouse and partridge and distract both of them from the sinking sense that whatever lines had been crossed could not be re-drawn and made whole.

* * *

That Temperance loved Hamilton meant that Aaron loved him.

That Temperance didn't understand politics meant that she didn't understand Hamilton's betrayals.

Hamilton couldn't be satisfied to let Burr have any victory, no matter how small. Hamilton excoriated him for his tactics and his company, though Hamilton's friends were no purer of motive and his manipulations no less brazen. Aaron met Hamilton less often for dinner, until they no longer saw each other socially, exchanging only curt words on the street, or in the courses of their business.

Temperance didn't like that at all.

She was excited by the business of elections. She knew how to pose and look noble, and treat the persons of potential supporters with care. More than one person exclaimed how well-behaved she was, and more than one printed report in Republican newspapers exhorted Temperance's behavior as proof that Burr had a well-ordered and disciplined mind. And that was absolutely true--except near Hamilton.

She still loved Hamilton. She couldn't understand why that didn't make everything in their little pack all right.

She knew what the election result meant, more or less. She came with him and met Jefferson--wolfless himself, like many southern gentlemen--with her ears forward and tail carefully neutral, aware that they were now subordinate to this man in their new political world.

Jefferson eyed Temperance warily and was slightly less dismissive of Aaron than he might have been had she not been there, and for that, he was grateful.

But Hamilton. _Hamilton._

Temperance couldn't read, but she knew that the letters Aaron exchanged made him angrier and angrier. She whined, paced Aaron's office, licked his fingers until he patted her head the way she liked. But she couldn't get him to set his pen aside, nor keep him from reading every new letter from Hamilton when it arrived in the post.

_Why so angry?_ she sent him.

He couldn't explain. He couldn't explain properly to anyone, so he didn't try; he kept his thoughts hidden behind a mask and only let them out when he was alone, only Temperance there to hear him.

And things came steadily to a boil.

Van Ness came to get him before dawn. It wasn't even twilight when they left Aaron's house, wrapped in coats thick enough that they would be sweltering when the July sun came over the horizon. Fog was sitting low across the river, muffling sight and sound, giving the whole affair a dreamlike quality. Temperance's claws clicked on cobbles as she trotted along behind them. He would have left her on shore, locked her in his office, but the strain of the bond wouldn't bear so distant a separation, especially when he needed all his wits about him for the morning's business. Reluctantly, he stepped into the boat and gestured her in after him, a reassuring presence, fur damp with dew.

They didn't catch sight of the other boat until they made the other side of the river. The fog was starting to lift as they pulled into the New Jersey shore, and they saw Hamilton's craft as a small dot on the river, still pulling from the city.

Aaron tried to ignore them on the walk up the cliff side to the dueling ground. Temperance tried to run back down the path so she could greet Hamilton when he disembarked, but Aaron whistled irritably at her and she reluctantly followed at his heels the rest of the way.

There was preparation to be done, underbrush and scree to be cleared off. By the time Hamilton and his second ascended to the ledge, Aaron and Van Ness were sweating, their coats watched over by an uneasy Temperance.

She got to her feet when Hamilton and his man Pendleton made the ledge. Aaron glared at her, and she looked curiously at him but kept still.

And then there was Alexander, looking off across the Hudson, back toward the city and the shadowed fog up the estuary.

"As the challenged," Pendleton said to Van Ness quietly, "We draw the first lot for choosing our location."

"Very well," Van Ness said, and then, "Very well, choose your spot."

Hamilton didn't turn until Pendleton touched him on the shoulder. Aaron watched as the men conferred, feeling strangely light-headed, until Hamilton calmly walked to the westernmost point of the ledge. "We'll take this position," he said. "Where are the pistols?"

Aaron took his pistol from the leather box Van Ness had been carrying, as Hamilton strode over to retrieve his own. For a moment they were elbow to elbow, still refusing to look into each other's eyes. Aaron looked over to see Hamilton's gloved hands as he turned the pistol over and checked its action.

The chill was back in the air, now that he wasn't moving. He went to retrieve his coat from where Temperance was watching it, only to find his wolf missing.

Annoyed, Aaron snatched up his coat and turn to look for her. It only took a moment to spot her, and when he did his vision went red.

He'd seen her at that pose before, next to Hamilton, staring wide-eyed up at him, tail wagging and ears perked forward as though she expected a treat. Hamilton had bent over and was saying something to her, soft enough that his words got lost in the wind.

Aaron's incandescent rage must have startled her, as Temperance looked around, spotted him, and slunk over contritely. He could barely look at her. He focused on shoving his arms into his coat, and when Temper whined and patted at his leg with her forepaw, he snarled, "Get away, you traitorous cur."

He could feel her shock and hurt as he buttoned his coat. He could almost hear the others stop breathing. He didn't look until he had checked and loaded his pistol, and found the mark Van Ness had scuffed into the dirt, ten paces from Hamilton's gun.

When he looked around, Pendleton and Van Ness were both staring at him. Hamilton was loading his own pistol.

Aaron narrowed his eyes, took his place at his mark, and steadied his breathing. "I'm ready."

Hamilton looked up, then sighted along his pistol. Aaron swallowed, but held his ground. Hamilton was an honorable man, committed to the path. He held his face completely still as Hamilton lowered the pistol, then raised it again, squinting. "Pardon me," Hamilton said, lowering his pistol and absentmindedly reaching his other hand to his jacket pocket. "I must... I need my glasses."

Hamilton looked suddenly older with his glasses on. They glinted in the dawn light as he took aim again, then lowered his gun and nodded at Pendleton. "Ready."

"Very well. Gentlemen, on the count of ten--"

Aaron's world narrowed, to the width of the ledge, the path of the bullets, the sight of Alexander Hamilton standing in front of him. Pendleton's count seemed to reverberate in this stillness.

"One!"

This was it, then. He had been prepared, but now, in the stillness, in the cool of morning, looking into Hamilton's dark gaze, it was as though he were standing at a precipice, and no more chances to turn around.

"Two!"

What had he accomplished? What was he going to accomplish?

"Three!"

He still had a legacy to create, something he could never do with Hamilton in his way. He had left Theodosia everything, both his cares and his small estate, but what name would he leave her, a Vice President cut down by his political rival?

"Four!"

Oh, God, Theodosia, he thought, his stomach twisting, I can't leave you alone, not after your mother--

"Five--"

He looked into Hamilton's eyes and saw only blankness, a reflection of his own determination.

"Six... Seven..."

The rest of the world seemed to fade away into a gray haze as he narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his pistol.

"Eight... Nine..."

He heard Temperance whimper, keenly, breaking the stillness of the morning.

"Ten, fire!"

Aaron saw movement, and before the thought even completed, he fired--

Later it seemed to him as though the whole world paused in that moment. He could see Alexander's face, and it seemed he could see both Alexander as he was, enemy and rival, canny politician and furious demagogue, and also see Alexander as he had been, young and naive and full of passionate intensity, the almost-friend Aaron could have had, if only--

If only everything had gone differently, if only Alexander hadn't been so stubbornly idealistic, if only Aaron had said yes, please, I choose you, stand by me, I'll stick my neck out for you if you do the same for me.

And a flicker so quick it didn't even count as memory, of the feeling he'd had when he'd first found Temperance, a tiny puppy in the snow outside of Princeton, called to find her out into a late spring blizzard when he was just thirteen, finding a tiny ball of fluff and dirt who looked small enough to fit in his pocket. Hiding her under his coat in the library reading everything he could about wolves, until he was found out and dragged before the president of the college and asked what he was going to do about her. Holding the squirming armful of grey and white fur, who had picked up on his anxiety but wasn't old enough to do anything about it, and facing Witherspoon down with the weight of his heritage steadying his shoulders. Telling the old man "I'm calling her Temperance," and holding his gaze until the older man looked away and sighed and agreed Aaron must keep her.

And ever since then, he'd had Temperance's presence, sometimes frustrating, sometimes embarrassing, sometimes incomprehensible, but never steering him wrong. There were those who thought wolves were the external expression of a man's animal instincts, those who thought men who attracted wolves were in some part wolf themselves, and those who thought men with wolves were reaching an earlier, purer age, before the temptations of the modern world. Aaron believed none of it. Temperance was an animal, a clever animal, one who had always guided him truly by her own knowledge and loyalty.

Except for with Alexander Hamilton, who was now pointing a pistol

up

in the air

A bullet-crack tore the air to the left of his head, and Aaron flinched, as the shots echoed in his ears and Hamilton collapsed to the ground--

_His gun had been pointed to the sky he was aiming at the sky he wasn't going to fire true--_

"Wait!" Aaron yelled, but it was too late, everything was already over, Hamilton had fallen, Pendleton was at his side and Van Ness was pulling Aaron's arm, muttering quickly, we must get away, the doctor is coming.

Temperance had scampered to Alexander's side, and Aaron ached for her, from her, knowing instantly what she knew. Temperance understood death. She knew a dying animal when she smelled one. She licked at Alexander's face and whimpered until he reached up to stroke her muzzle and whisper something else to her.

Aaron couldn't move, couldn't force his feet to take him from that spot, until Temperance came back to him, head low, and pushed at him until he started walking down the path from the ledge, passing the doctor who was coming up at a trot.

He didn't remember staggering down to the beach or climbing into the boat, but when they were halfway back to the city, Temperance threw back her head and howled.

"Hush, Temper!" he said, putting his hand on her muzzle.

She whined, then stuck her nose in his ear and licked until he started petting her.

_Why?_ she asked.

"I don't know," Aaron said harshly, and only realized he'd spoken aloud when Van Ness looked strangely at him. He shook his head and pressed his face into Temper's coat. _What did he say to you?_

Impression, more than thought; memory, distorted by a wolf's hearing and colored by scents rather than images or words, but he felt the reassurance, the whisper of Alexander's voice, _don't worry, don't worry._

_That's all?_ he asked. He felt hollow, scooped out, all his expectations and desires removed with the gunshot. Draining out into the dirt like Hamilton's blood.

This time when Temperance started howling, he didn't try to stop her.


End file.
